Perfectly At Home


Everyone was home yesterday. Not necessarily in the home.
Betty, get out of there.


Thank you.
Everyone was home yesterday, and for most of the day we were working and playing outside. And I think it was the combination of work and play that made the day feel pretty nearly perfect.


From the rose bed...


... where blooms are waking,


... to the orchard where the trees are taking root and giving fruit,


... I am beginning to see signs that we are settling in to our home. I see familiar touches, and I feel the comforting sense of belonging. We are claiming walls, filling drawers, spreading out, playing, making our marks. It feels so very good.


The traffic is our own, and so are the lines on the ground. Bike races, hopscotch, tic-tac-toe, plucking blossoms, running barefoot, chatting over the neighbor's fence, spotting birds, putting tools away... it's like untying knots, unraveling tension that has been building up, and letting it go. Little by little, finally letting it go.


So the day was full. Full of productive work, full of games and laughter, full of deep thoughts and other musings, and full of delightful nothingness.


Everyone did their own thing. Coming and going.










They can be elusive... the words that describe my happiness for feeling perfectly at home. The feelings are wonderful.

Sun Day

Hey, before the sun goes down, rush over to The Owl Box and see what's hatching... it's a live peek at a barn owl and her hatching chicks. It's amazing.

My own chicks had a little fun of their own before the sun set.

Happy Sunday.























Happy sun day.

Spring, It Sprung!


Happy Spring!

Did it surprise you?
It surprised me.
I saw it coming, but then I kind of missed the spring-eve anticipation, and then this morning WhAm! It's Spring.

You'd think, with no less than three calendars hanging in just one corner of the Bird House, I would be up on these things. Our calendars mostly say : Robotics. Go to... robotics. Meet for... robotics. Take dinner to... robotics. Make reservations for... robotics.

So, signs of spring must be elsewhere... let's see...


Hmmm... we cannot get enough.
I took almost every post I ever wrote about robotics and put them all in one post, so that it is like a massive Robotics index for Chickenblog. It was pretty much a nightmare trying to make the code work, because I am pretty much an amateur when it comes to code. But I keep trying.

And Maria... she's learning code. Look at all the words she is writing. Her writing skills are springing! I love our message board.

But, spring is outdoors. Right? Nature. So, outside I went, in search of the new season.


Ah, the morning light, the glistening dew. Here is spring. In the flowers. In the air.


And I saw the calla lilies, and Chango reposing in the garden bed. I thought how idyllic and good nature is, how lovely the forms and lines, the rhythm of the new day. And I was totally getting poetic and reveling in the nature high, and this seemed like a good time to photograph Chango. He was there, still and content... what a perfect opportunity to capture the essence of spring.

But.
Nature.
Nature is brutal.
I mean, come on... poetry, and dew drops on lilies... it's real nice, but nature has all kinds of plans and devices.
I'm just saying...


Chango?
Chango, what are you... ?
Nooooo!
Don't eat nature Chango, not spring. Not the very emblem of cute, fluffy-tailed baby spring.

Okay.
Go back inside everyone.
Come on.
Spring is inside.
Let's go.


Blinded by grief, I point my camera in all directions, looking for something lovely to erase the graphic nature of events I have witnessed. Pictures of my ranchero boys. Happy memories of springs past, elotes, beseros, y sombreros. My thrift shop find, a sleek red handbag... perfect for no occasion I am likely to enjoy, but I like the possibility.

Then, salvation. Bill is sending me real life nature pictures. Action shots from Soquel-Cal, where the dear and the antelope play. The dear are my nephew and niece, Dominic and Marissa.


Ah, Nature. Here is Nature. At the lumberyard and garden center.

Thank goodness.


Bill says these reindeer are pretty wild, like buckin' reindeer. Seriously. You have to hang on for eight seconds. Don't get bucked off.

I'm telling you, Nature is brutal.
And spring, spring will spring on you.
You gotta be ready.
Just sayin'.

You're probably thinking I am trying to "look busy," just because Geoff says "Before we go to robotics, we should clean."

Spring Cleaning.
Brutal.

Never Give Up, Never Surrender


When I put those words on Chickenblog, in my profile, it wasn't because I am chronically optimistic, or whole heartedly ambitious, or even particularly perky. For me, Never give up, never surrender, is more than a great movie line... it's a great reminder of what I am striving for. I want to be resilient and daring, I want to overcome obstacles and navigate rough water. And when I lose my way, or get knocked down, I want to believe that those words will rise in my mind, and spirit, and get me on my feet again. I need support. I need encouragement. I need affirmations. Left to my own devices, I am a bit too attracted to feh and meh.


This has been a bad week. Not fatal. Not devastating. Just bad, which is not good. Know what I mean? Hmmm... just admitting this, actually makes it seems a bit better... less bad. Cool.

I was in the yard yesterday and from our bedroom upstairs, I heard Maria's rescue me now cry. I bolted in to the house and flew up the stairs. And even though I was flying, somehow I managed to tear the thingy that makes the calf muscle stick to the thing, which is in my leg... not sure if it was the gastrocnemius or the soleus. I am quite certain it was the one that lets you freely put your own weight down on your leg, which I can longer do. My leg screams at me, then goes floppy. Maria fell though a chair that broke, and scraped her back. Between my wincing and her crying, we were quite a pair.


Geoff is not working one hundred hours/week, and we are all getting reacquainted, which is good, but not as easy as it might sound. Post-crunch mode is always a bit of an adjustment, a combination of recovery and realigning. And now we have a secondary and almost equally consuming project... a little something we call Robotics!!!! Man, I love robotics. Man, do I need a robotics break. Mostly though, I love robotics. Geoff is logging some serious hours as programming mentor, and you may have noticed I have added my unique, sincere, amateur touches here and there. Anyway, our family-domestic Bird House Rhythm is kind of on hold, which is not easy. It might help if there ever was a Family-Domestic Bird House Rhythm, but whatever, it will happen. Right? It's not too late. I am really hoping it's not too late.

Okay. What was my point?


I am taking the high road. My complaints and laundry list of bad week evidence are done. I will leave the rest unsaid. I am going to accentuate the positive. I am going to make that leap of faith, and believe that if I do not give up, if I do not surrender, that we will be alright. We will find the way to heal, and to grow, to learn, to make do, to feel good, be good, and do good. Affirmations, jokes, hugs, band-aids, faith, sweat, Lexulous, and signs of spring... those blossoms of hope, love and courage... those are what I am going to focus on. Maybe especially Joe's nose. Look at it. It makes me feel better already.


Flowers are blooming, even a rose. Betty is happy. The cats are alive, and they are happy too. The children keep working, and learning, and making me proud. Geoff found the Tylenol. Delia and Ron will be in Vegas. William was offered a paying job, from his good work at his volunteer job. Alex recognized Japanese words and phrases when we watched a movie in Japanese. Max makes awesome wishes. Maria is writing and reading words (her own name, Max, Izzy, love, and more). The rainy season is mostly over and the leak in our roof didn't get too bad. Good stuff. Yup.

Funniest Great White Chicken With Dreadlocks


Yes, the "funniest," "great white" "chicken" with "dreadlocks" was reportedly seen wearing "snake stomping boots" at the "Chicken Blog Worst Mommy Blogging Contest." Anyone feverishly searching for these key phrases may, or may not, have found everything they were looking for here, at Chickenblog.

Other key phrase searches include:

"Star Wars Lego People"
"Chicken Polish" ( the breed, I hope, and not a cleaning product)
"Fall and Can't Get Up"
"Fairies"
and "Sparkle Me Clean"

I think anyone searching for "dreadlocks" or "sparkle me clean" had to have left sorely disappointed.

Have you guessed? I decided to dance around in the blog stats... a mine field of ego crushing numbers and facts related to how many people read the blog, where they come from, what they like, and what they were actually looking for.



Staying Long?
No wonder there are so few comments. 83.3% of visitors to Chickenblog stay less than 30 seconds.
I guess it doesn't take long to figure out that I am not going to help anyone 'sparkle clean.'

Building a TreeHouse?
Oh. I bet people are hoping to get treehouse tips, not realizing that these posts are about our days renting a house that was surrounded by trees, where we felt like we were living perched in a treehouse.
Sad note... the landlord built his Tuscan dream home there and took out every single beautiful, mature, lovely tree. It looks like somebody dropped stucco on Isengard.

Chcieken
Huh?
Just kidding. I could never harass someone for misspelling chcieken. I misspell chieken every single time. Ironic, don't you think? So, if you are looking for chieken, then welcome!

Dude, change your thesis.
Who was trying to score information for their term paper?
"... related studies and literature of a roasted chicken and who discovered the roasted chicken"
Let me help... I may have a few servings of Roasted Chicken literature:

Shakespeared: From roasted chickens we desire increase,
That thereby dinner's rose might never die...

John Rooster Milton: A good roast chicken is the precious lifeblood of a blogger spirit.

Mary Hen Shelley: It is a farce to call any roast chicken virtuous whose virtues do not result from the exercise of its own seasonings.

Shockingly, there are very, very, very few people who come around Chickenblog looking for information on robotics, or building robotics, robotic competitions, or what to wear to a robotic competition, or how to get to a FRC.

Why Tuesday?
This post might not be read by anyone. Tuesdays are the busiest days, with the most visits to Chckinblog Chickenblog.


Maria wrote her name. I do not know who wrote the quote, but I find it applicable and comforting.

I'll see you tomorrow.

What? These Ol' Things?

I'll pretend to be coy... My kitty-kitty shoes? You like? They're just something to slip on when I am pussyfooting around.


Here kitty-kitties, come to mama.

Oh, yeah. Had to have them. I saw them at Happy Zombie's house, and then I traipsed over to Calamity Kim's place and sure enough, there they were again.

Meow!


I hope you can adopt a pair too. With any kitties you bring home there is a period of adjustment... they were a bit tight across the top of my feet. Monica, is that why you removed the strap? But, beauty hurts, as the saying goes, so I wore them for a little bit at a time every now and again, and I find they are loosening up and getting comfortable. I know that when Nikkipolani brings home kitties, they get the best, and Aunt Carol would give them her utmost love and devotion too.

It's funny. Most places I go, I am like the invisible woman. Quiet. Low-key. Mousy. Dressed to kill mildly irritate. But the kitties they Meow and whenever I take them out on the town, they turn heads. It kind of throws me off-guard, when they call attention, purring like they do. They get a lot of compliments. Many, many comments and nods of approval.

Tara, if they came in Chicken I'd faint.

If they came in Maria's size, she would leap, fly and slide down a rainbow.

January 20-Something


Very cold.
Well, not "very" compared with all points east and north of here.
But for us... very cold.


Between storms.
Between loads of laundry.
Between drop-off and pick-up.


After Christmas.
Before Geoff's birthday.


Raindrops on roses.
On unpruned roses.
Roses bright as the sun that is not shining.
Raindrops and puddles and mud,
and roof tiles all over the lawn.
Raindrops on the bathroom floor, below the leak.


Betty layed leid laid lathed left gave an egg.


After school, before homework is spread across our table, we will indulge in a Betty-Brownie confection,
so I must remember to grab some milk at the market.
And I must remember to bring Pepper's Ghost to William.
And I must remember to file one more school bulletin announcement for robotics.
And I must remember to... hmmm... something I've already forgotten.
I must not forget to take the brownies out of the oven.


I am so far behind in the list of forgottens, that lately I have felt like raising a white flag.
I surrender, I cry.
Because I suspect that I am in over my head.


It's going to rain again.
I am not sure the shelter over Betty and Joe's house is going to make it through the next storm.
Did you hear there were tornados in California?
Betty and Joe could have wound up in Oz.

Yeah. Now I am just avoiding.
I know.
Back to the laundry.